My life is a like the hair of a woman who asks for a beedi from every passer-by—it’s too messyRead more
I must be allowed to mourn
when I do arithmetic on a
fresh grave and divide them into
two halves: the ones that died
because they fought
and ones that died because they didn’t fight.
I don’t know which is worse.
april is monotonous. we overdo each other’s clothes as we find each other after a tedious day. i am calling it mundane because we confine our intimacy to neck kisses and missionary.Read more
I have always loved flowers. As a child, I always used to pick and pluck them from wherever I could.Read more
We promise ourselves not to be repeating but yet end up falling into this pit of self criticism. And the cycle goes on.Read more